Лето
XVIII
Onlyonce,onthedayoftheOldHomeWeekcelebration,whilethestrayfragmentsofhisaddressdriftedacrosshertroubledmind,hadshecaughtaglimpseofanotherbeing,abeingsodifferentfromthedull-wittedenemywithwhomshehadsupposedherselftobelivingthateventhroughtheburningmistofherowndreamshehadstoodoutwithstartlingdistinctness.Foramoment,then,whathesaid—andsomethinginhiswayofsayingit—hadmadeherseewhyhehadalwaysstruckherassuchalonelyman.Butthemistofherdreamshadhiddenhimagain,andshehadforgottenthatfugitiveimpression.
Itcamebacktohernow,astheysatatthetable,andgaveher,throughherownimmeasurabledesolation,asuddensenseoftheirnearnesstoeachother.Butallthesefeelingswereonlybriefstreaksoflightinthegreyblurofherphysicalweakness.ThroughitshewasawarethatMr.Royallpresentlylefthersittingbythetableinthewarmroom,andcamebackafteranintervalwithacarriagefromthestation—aclosed“hack”withsun-burntbluesilkblinds—inwhichtheydrovetogethertoahousecoveredwithcreepersandstandingnexttoachurchwithacarpetofturfbeforeit.Theygotoutatthishouse,andthecarriagewaitedwhiletheywalkedupthepathandenteredawainscotedhallandthenaroomfullofbooks.InthisroomaclergymanwhomCharityhadneverseenreceivedthempleasantly,andaskedthemtobeseatedforafewminuteswhilewitnesseswerebeingsummoned.
Charitysatdownobediently,andMr.Royall,hishandsbehindhisback,pacedslowlyupanddowntheroom.
